Doing the Laundry
by WRTRD
Summary: What could have happened in 3x11, when Beckett goes home after seeing Castle and Natalie Rhodes leave the precinct together, lip-to-lip in the elevator. In this story, both Josh and Gina are blessedly already out of the picture. A three-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** The only part of _Castle_ that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

"Research, my ass. I'll bet it's research, you tramp. You collagen-lipped celluloid slut." Kate Beckett is talking to herself, but not about herself. No, she's addressing the absent Natalie Rhodes, the ersatz Nikki Heat, and she is steamed, really, really steamed. Might say hot under the collar, if she weren't wearing a faded, collarless, oversized T shirt that hangs off her like a king-sized pillowcase on a tiny scatter cushion. "Bet you never got a job without getting naked first, Natalie. Which probably isn't even your name. You probably changed it from something god-awful. I can do _research_. I'll find out, don't think I can't, and I'll start calling you that. Bertha. Brünnhilde. Mildred. Whatever."

It has been three hours since Natalie Rhodes and Castle left the precinct for the day. Beckett had gone home soon after, to her empty apartment. She stripped out of her work clothes, put on the T shirt and an old pair of shorts, and began maniacally cleaning. She has already rendered the bathroom and kitchen antiseptic enough for open-heart surgery. She's thinking, as she gets ready to do the laundry, that surgery is exactly what she'd like to perform on Natalie Rhodes, minus the anesthesia. "Maybe just human sacrifice, like the Aztecs. I'll cut open her chest and tear her heart out," she says with a certain amount of glee.

Beckett opens the hamper and begins to unleash her rage on the blameless washing machine, furiously stuffing two weeks' worth of towels and exercise clothes inside. "You couldn't even wait for the fucking elevator doors to close?" she asks, slamming down a 64-ounce bottle of detergent and turning a control knob so forcefully that it almost breaks off in her hand. "You were all over him like some cheap massage oil. And Castle? You were disgusting, drooling into her mouth. God. I know exactly what you're up to now, fanboy, in her hotel room. Did you order room service yet? Did you do her yet?"

She puts her hand on top of the machine as if willing it to answer her. "Was she muse enough for you? I bet she's never read a book in her life. No, she's been too fucking busy and too busy fucking." Beckett is surprised to hear herself chuckle. "Hey, Castle, I'm together enough to quote Dorothy Parker on the spot. Think Natalie even knows who Dorothy Parker is? Was. Shit." She slides to the floor and begins a morose assessment of her life, especially her love life. Yeah, she has Josh, except that he's never around, so what's the point? He may be great eye candy, but he's a lousy conversationalist and he's only okay in bed. He's always so clinical, a little too doctor-y, and not in the fun sense, the let's-play-doctor sense. She's well aware that he's just a place holder, anyway. Until she gets the nerve to go after the real thing.

Feeling her shorts pocket vibrate, she pulls out her phone. Well, well, speak of the real thing: it's Castle. She glares at the little icon on the screen, declines the call and puts the phone back in her pocket. "Fuck if I'm talking to you, bud. You can keep cuddling with your star-lette. Bertha. Brünnhilde. Mildred." Maybe a drink would lift her spirits, so what if alcohol is a depressant. She's already depressed, and pissed. She gets to her feet and goes to the kitchen in search of a bottle of wine. Aha, here it is, a really nice baby cabernet. Thirty minutes and one alarmingly clean window later, she pours a glass and goes to transfer the laundry to the dryer. The stuff is heavy, so she puts the machine on the mega-strength cycle.

When the phone buzzes a second time, she almost rips it out of her pocket; it's Castle again. She jams her index finger on Decline Call, growls and puts her head on top of the dryer. Hmm. Feels good. She adds her forearms. Mmmm, better. She presses her whole upper torso on top of the pulsating machine. Oooooohhh. This could be an out-of-body experience. She pulls herself up and sits, spread-eagled and tipping forward, on top of the dryer. God, this is sensational. Better than Josh, much better. Her entire body is getting flushed. This machine is incredible, but it needs a little help. Maybe just a finger or two. "I hate you, Natalie Rhodes."

Castle is standing outside Beckett's door. She refused two calls. She's ticked off at him. He wants to apologize for being such a jerk about Natalie Rhodes, he really does. He had left her at her hotel lobby and said goodnight. Went to a bar for a good stiff drink to give himself the courage to face An Angry Beckett. He knocks. Nothing. Knocks again. Still nothing. He's getting a little worried. Puts his ear slap up against the door. Is that moaning? Is she moaning? Is she hurt?

This is an emergency. After Beckett's previous apartment had blown up and she moved here, she had given him a key in case of an emergency, and this is it. He can hear her. There's no doorman to vet visitors here, no security at all. Yeah, okay, so that's how he got upstairs. Still, she might have been battered and bloodied by an intruder. Left on the floor. Castle takes the key and quietly unlocks the door. He steals in and tries to locate the sound of her voice, her moaning. It's coming from her laundry space. He tiptoes through the kitchen and comes quietly around the corner. It's a vision, some unexpected godly gift. There, sitting on the top of her dryer, is Beckett, her hand in her panties, wearing the most blissful expression he has ever seen. And the only other thing she's wearing, over her braless breasts, is—his T shirt?

"Beckett?"

Kate's eyes fly open.

"Beckett? Are you getting off on the _dryer_?"

She's so startled that she virtually flies off the machine and lands, hard, on the floor at his feet.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** The only part of _Castle_ that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

Beckett figures that she has about fifteen seconds, max, before she has to respond. Is there any possible recovery from this? She'll have to grit it out. Which is worse, the psychic pain or the physical? Definitely the first, even though her right foot is screaming at her. In her personal Hall of Humiliation, this moment may get the highest—and thus the lowest—ranking ever. Might as well just tell the truth. God knows there's no other explanation for what she was doing on top of the Whirlpool. Could have been worse, she could have been shlicking on a Siemens or a Speed Queen. The adolescent side of Castle, which is never far away, wouldn't have been able to let that juicy detail go. Oh, God, time's up.

"You're right, Castle, I was getting off on the dryer," Beckett says through clenched teeth. "But now, thanks to you, I'm just _off_ it."

Castle wonders if he's delirious, given what he thinks he just saw and what he thinks he just heard. Beckett hasn't moved, except to turn her head away from him. What he wouldn't give to make her look the way she did a minute ago, on top of the formerly uninteresting household appliance that he'll be dreaming about for the rest of his life. She's scarily quiet. Maybe he should say something. "Uh, Beckett, can I get you anything?"

"My dignity would be nice, but that's clearly shot." She tries to push herself up from the floor, but shrieks and sits back down.

"You're hurt, Beckett." He extends his hand, but stops short of touching her. "Can you straighten out your leg?"

"It's not my leg, it's my foot."

"Oh, thank God."

"What do you mean, thank God?"

"Because I love your legs. I mean, because your legs are what, you know, hold you up."

"As opposed to my feet?"

Oh, he's in trouble. She's looking at him with her plutonium death-ray glare. "Sorry, sorry. Let me help you," he says, as he leans over. "Put your arm around my shoulder and we'll get you to the sofa, okay?" She nods, and together they manage to hoist her up and move to the living room. "I'm going to round up some ice." He beetles to the kitchen and opens the freezer, where he finds two trays of desiccated ice cubes, a pint of slightly furry coconut sorbet, and, wow, four gel cold packs. He wraps two of them in the dishtowel that's hanging by the sink, and takes them to Beckett, who's sitting with her back against the arm of the sofa and her legs stretched out.

The silence that's ricocheting around them is making him nervous. "Beckett, could I put a cushion under your foot? Elevate it? Here's some ice, oh, you can't reach, can you, I'll put it here on your foot, the part that's red, okay? It's not broken, is it? Should we go to the E.R.? Do you need something for the pain?"

She doesn't know whether to put an end to this misery by shooting herself or him, but she can't do either since her gun is locked in the safe and she can't get there on her own. It's agonizing, and not because of her foot. It's also confusing. Why isn't he crowing or gloating or teasing her mercilessly? Why isn't every word out of his mouth infused with innuendo? Why is he fluttering and flustered? Hmm.

"Castle?"

"Yes?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Just, um, trying to make you more comfortable."

"That's nice, the cold pack is helping."

"Oh, good. That's good."

"But, seriously, do I look comfortable right now? And how about you? I'd have thought that you'd be very comfortable. Are you feeling comfortable?"

"No, not really. No."

"You think maybe it's because of the elephant in the room?"

"The elephant?"

"The mastodon. The Tyrannosaurus rex. The two-hundred-ton blue whale. The biggest goddamn animal in the world. It seems to have taken up residence here." She hasn't taken her eyes off Castle, who's looking uneasy, maybe even gaining fast on panicky. "But before we get to the animal, tell me what you're really doing here. Why did you come? I thought that you were spending the night with Nikki Heattttt."

Man, she sounds like she just set fire to that T, or detonated it. Gotta suck it up. "To apologize."

Huh? The Queen of Self-Control apparently can't control her jaw, which has fallen open. "Apologize?"

"I know that I was behaving like some embarrassing star-struck fan and then she kissed me and I kissed her back right in the precinct elevator which I shouldn't have and then I saw you saw us."

"You saw me see you?"

"Yes."

She hopes her voice is steadier than it feels. "So?"

"And you looked jealous." Holy fuck, he said it. He hadn't meant to say it. He's still thinking about her on the dryer and can't be responsible for what he says, especially since she's right in front of him with those bare legs and she still has nothing but on those panties. Those panties! And his shirt.

Her face is instantly and uncontrollably red, redder than her foot. She hasn't blushed like this since high school. You know what? The hell with it. Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. She told him the truth about what she was doing on the dryer and she might as well tell him the truth about why. Maybe it's time.

"Before you came over here I was doing the laundry."

"I'll say. Especially the dryer." Her look stops him from saying more.

"When I get mad, I wash the floor, dust, vacuum, polish. Do the laundry."

"So you were cleaning."

"I was furious at you. So yes, I was cleaning. I was cleaning and having dirty thoughts."

"Dirty thoughts? About?"

"About you."

"Uh, Beckett. I guess—" He runs his hands over his face, three times. "I guess I'll ask you why, make sure I'm not wrong about why."

"You're not wrong, Castle. I was jealous. That should have been me you were kissing, not her, although preferably not in front of the entire precinct." Yup, the cat's out of the bag. There's a whole menagerie in the room now and they're about to make a lot of noise. Roaring, caterwauling, bleating.

TBC

**A/N:** Thank you for all the support. My apologies for the TBC: I thought that this would be a two-shot, but there's one more cartridge in the starter's pistol. It seemed appropriate, since these two are finally starting something.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** The only part of _Castle_ that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

**A/N:** Please note that in this story Gina and Rick have already broken up, as have Kate and Josh. It's a perfect world.

Castle is gobsmacked. Just minutes ago, Beckett was hell bent on kicking his butt, and now she's saying…what? That he should be kissing her? He has to weigh his options: on one hand, he should be very cautious, consider the possibility that it's the pain talking, or the embarrassment. On the other, he should make his move now in case she changes her mind. Yeah! To hell with the first hand, he'll risk it and go with the other. Besides, she's in no position to kick his butt, at least not literally.

"Look around you, Beckett," he says, sidling closer to her. "We're the only people here. Does this mean I can kiss you now?"

She makes a show of soberly taking in the room, even craning her neck to look behind her. "Could you check the hallway? Make sure that there's no one out there, ready to burst in?"

A beaming Castle walks backwards to the door, turns around to open it, looks both ways, and shuts it. "All clear."

"Did you lock it?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Then I think it's safe for you to kiss me."

She scoots over, expecting him to come to the sofa and gather her into his arms, but Castle apparently has different plans. He stops directly behind her and waits. She tilts her head back and looks up into his face. Wow, his eyes are blue. Have they always been this incredibly blue? Maybe it's the lighting in here—or not.

"You're a member of the NYPD?"

"That's right."

"I wanted to be sure, since you're not in uniform. In fact, you're in my T shirt." He glowers. "I'm here to make a citizen's arrest."

"Really? What's the charge?"

"Theft, possession of stolen property. Maybe later I'll add indecent—though very, very welcome—exposure."

She blushes again. God almighty, the second time tonight, but this blush isn't limited to her face. "So, you're here to get your property back?"

"I am. Have you any objections?" He's leaning over deeply, his face just inches from hers, and his voice gets silkier with every syllable. "You're not going to call your cop buddies, are you? The boys in blue?"

"No, no, absolutely not. I'm guilty as charged. Guilty as sin."

"I think we can come to an agreement then. Jail time would serve no purpose, but perhaps a period of house arrest?"

"Yes, I think, house arrest, yes. Good idea."

She can feel her nipples tighten as he reaches gently through the stretched-out neck of the T shirt and moves his warm, remarkably soft fingers across her collar bones. He caresses them sensually before tilting his fingers up to pull the fabric away from her skin. Dropping his head slightly, he purses his lips and blows lightly across her breasts, which makes her nipples even harder. Then, withdrawing his hands to stroke the sides of her rib cage, he gathers the jersey in his fingers and begins to inch it upwards.

"You stole this T shirt, didn't you?"

She's breathing hard, but with some effort gets out a whispery, confessable "I did."

"The rightful owner is reclaiming his property," Castle says, and with one final tug pulls the shirt off her head and drops it on the floor. But suddenly, Manhattan's chattiest bachelor has nothing to say. The stuff of his dreams—the bone, sinew, muscle, blood, heart, and soul of his dreams—is exposed beneath him. He actually has plenty to say, but he finds that he can't. Every perfectly chosen word, every scintillating turn of phrase, every dazzling sentence, has taken leave of him. He stands up straight, shakes his head, walks around the sofa, and kneels next to her. "Beckett?"

Her pupils are all but obliterating her irises, but she can still see him. "Mmmm?"

He takes her face in his hands, kisses her softly beneath her ear, and runs his thumb under her eye. "I love the tiny mole you have here. It's so sexy." He pulls her lower lip between his teeth, then releases it. "Do you know how often I've thought about your lips? Your tongue? Last week I saw you lick an envelope and had to leave the room. I was afraid that I'd take you right on your desk. You may have been jealous of Natalie, but I was jealous of an envelope."

Beckett smiles into him. "Were you jealous of anything else?"

"Oh, you can't imagine."

"Like what?"

"Well, about an hour ago, after I walked in the door, I was unbelievably jealous of your fingers."

She holds up her right hand, puts two fingers in her mouth and then strokes them over his lips. "You mean these?"

"Sweet Jesus, yes." He draws her fingers into his mouth, letting them go only when he gets up from his knees. "Is there room for me on that sofa?" She slides down until she's supine and he moves over her, holding himself up on his forearms and being careful not to brush his foot against her injured one.

"Is that little kiss the only one I'm going to get, Castle? How about if I give you one?" She pulls his head down and pours a year and a half of suppressed passion and many long months of undeclared love into his mouth, and he responds with everything he has. Together they quickly remove his clothes and her lace-trimmed bikinis, and begin their exploration. Not one square millimeter of flesh is overlooked, not one nick or freckle, scrape or scar untended, not one vein untraced or one pulse point unheeded. The room resonates with moans and giggles and the sound of slick skin meeting slick skin.

Beckett's legs are spread wide, and Castle is nestled happily inside them. He has been driving her wild by teasing her with his fingers, never entering her quite deeply enough or stroking her quite hard enough to satisfy her. "I think this could be my favorite thing about you so far, Beckett. Dangerous. Slippery when wet."

"Castle, inside. Get inside me before I lose the last remaining piece of my mind."

"Just a minute. I want to run a taste test." He replaces his fingers with his tongue, running it hard across her clitoris. "This is amazing. You know what I just realized? This is an interlabial-lingual adventure!" When she arches sharply upward, he accidentally nudges her foot with his heel.

She yelps and he startles, but she digs her nails into his shoulder. "I'm fine, it's fine."

"I'm so sorry. Should I move my feet? Are you sure I didn't kick you?"

"Your foot is not the moving part I'm interested in. And if you don't move that part now I will scream so loudly that Mr. Kubiak next door will pound on the door and you will have to get dressed to answer it while I finish this by myself."

"I love it when you threaten me, Beckett. Are you ready?" She blinks her eyes. With one thrust he is in, and on one shared breath, one warm column of air, they say "Yes." It's perfect and fun and stupefyingly spectacular. And not long after, shattering the myth of the all-but-impossible, they orgasm simultaneously.

"You know what, Castle?" Beckett says later, still a little hazy as she lies with her head on his chest. "We've always had such terrible timing, and today was the worst, with you and Natalie and the elevator, and you and me and the dryer. But look at us now: the first time we have sex, we also have perfect timing."

"Did you think about doing this before? Or was today, The Day of the Dryer, the first time you entertained dirty thoughts about me?"

"Can't say I haven't spun some fantasies, Castle. Like when we went to Kyra's wedding and I caught her bouquet. I wanted to drag you into the nearest closet and take you in my mouth and suck you dry. Swallow every bit while you watched me."

"Ha! I knew you were jealous. I wish you'd done it."

"I don't. This was the right time. I know damn well that you've been trying to get me in the sack since forever, but what's one of the good clean filthy thoughts you had about me?"

"You remember that tight blue dress you wore at the _Heat Wave_ party? I wanted to handcuff us together and pull your breasts right out of that dress with just my mouth, while you were standing there and every guy in the room was eyeballing you."

"I'm not crazy about the eyeballing thing, you perv, but I really like the handcuffs part. And your mouth. I especially like that."

They're drifting in and out, but still buzzing. "So, Beckett," Castle says comfortably, his arm tight around her waist. "You have any more dirty thoughts about me?"

"Oh, thousands. The one I have right now takes place in the shower." She picks up his hand and kisses his palm. "Why don't you come with me? See if you can read my mind."

**A/N: **That's the end of this little tale. Thanks very much to all of you who kept me company during it!


End file.
